


save your first and last chance for me

by 1000_directions



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Disordered Eating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pancakes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safeword Use, thighs of betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22094830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Sleep?Bucky signs hesitantly. He’s not very good at ASL, but he keeps trying. He’ll learn a sign one day, then the next, it’s fallen through one of the holes in his memory, lost with all the other things he used to know but can’t quite remember. No one’s making him learn it, there’s no future mission application. It’s just something he wants to do, so he can talk to Clint when he has his aids out. And he struggles, and hekeeps trying, for Clint, and it’s just…Clint’s never met anyone who wants to be good as badly as Bucky Barnes wants to be good.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 24
Kudos: 375
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	save your first and last chance for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tintedglasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tintedglasses/gifts).



> happy birthday, anna!!!!! i asked you for prompts and then kind of just ignored them and did whatever i was going to do, so i hope that you like this!! thank you for being such a great friend. i am so excited we ended up in the same fandom again, because you are truly a blessing, and i am so glad to know you. thank you for always having emotions about bucky barnes with me.
> 
> "kink negotiation" square for winterhawk bingo

It’s good, what’s going on between him and Bucky Barnes. Clint thinks it’s good, overall. It’s not perfect, but neither is Bucky, and neither is Clint. They’re both just doing their best, and it’s _good_.

Bucky’s still fairly recently recovered, in the sense that he’s been newly liberated from Hydra. His body isn’t theirs anymore, even if he hasn’t quite managed to make his mind entirely his own. Clint knows it will take time for him to unravel the threads of PTSD sewn throughout his psyche, the leftover bits of trauma from suffering decades and decades of torture and abuse. It might take a lifetime before Bucky is _that_ kind of recovered, and Clint doesn’t know if he’s necessarily the best, most stable partner to accompany Bucky on that journey.

But Bucky _likes_ him. And fuck, it’s so fucking nice to be liked. And Clint likes Bucky, too, thinks about him all the goddamn time, wants to keep him safe and protected. And so Clint tries to be strong for him. Even when Clint knows he is not actually a strong, good man, he tries to be. For Bucky.

Clint’s mostly asleep when the lights in his rooms flash on and off six times, which means someone’s at his door. According to the digital clock on the wall, it’s 3:04 in the morning, which means the person at his door is Bucky. Clint stretches and rolls onto his side, waiting for Bucky to let himself in. Clint doesn’t have access to Bucky’s rooms, but Bucky has access to Clint’s, which he makes use of several times a week, occasionally for sex purposes, but mostly for nightmares. Tonight, Clint is pretty sure it’s going to be a nightmare.

Clint doesn’t have his hearing aids in, so he doesn’t hear the sounds of Bucky shuffling into the apartment. But soon enough, he sees Bucky’s silhouette in the doorway, broad and powerful and unmistakable.

“Lights to 30%, JARVIS,” Clint murmurs sleepily, and the room illuminates softly, just enough for Clint to see Bucky’s bare feet and soft pajamas, his slumped posture and his carefully controlled face.

 _Sleep?_ Bucky signs hesitantly. He’s not very good at ASL, but he keeps trying. He’ll learn a sign one day, then the next, it’s fallen through one of the holes in his memory, lost with all the other things he used to know but can’t quite remember. No one’s making him learn it, there’s no future mission application. It’s just something he wants to do, so he can talk to Clint when he has his aids out. And he struggles, and he _keeps trying_ , for Clint, and it’s just…

Clint’s never met anyone who wants to be good as badly as Bucky Barnes wants to be good.

“C’mere,” Clint says, scooting backwards and making room on the bed. Bucky smiles a little, even though there’s still something kind of blank and haunted in his eyes that worries Clint. But he’s not going to push. Bucky can tell him what’s going on, or he can keep it to himself. It’s important to let him choose. And either way, Clint is going to wrap his arms around him and keep him safe all night long.

They get settled in bed, Bucky’s back against Clint’s front. Clint curls around him, protectively, instinctively, and Bucky breathes out, and his muscles relax, bit by bit. Clint presses a warm kiss to the skin behind Bucky’s ear, and he rubs his left hand soothingly up and down over Bucky’s metal arm. The plates flutter and recalibrate beneath his palm, but soon enough, they settle as well.

Bucky’s jaw moves slightly, and then the room goes dark. Clint kisses Bucky again, soft and lingering against his lightly-stubbled chin. Bucky finds his hand in the dark and squeezes gently. And Clint hates that Bucky still gets these nightmares, hates that he doesn’t feel safe inside his own brain. But still, he loves having Bucky in his bed. Loves to fall asleep with his arms wrapped around this person he likes so much. And if this is what Bucky needs to feel safe, he can have it, absolutely.

“Goodnight,” Clint whispers. If Bucky answers, Clint doesn’t hear it.

*

Clint wakes up to gentle fingers stroking carefully over his face and a warm, comfortable weight pushing him down into the mattress. He blinks open his eyes, and Bucky’s face comes into focus. Clint gazes up at him as Bucky runs an index finger down his nose to his lips, and he smiles when Clint kisses his warm fingertip. His mouth shapes the words _Good morning_ before he remembers himself, scrunching up his nose at his error.

“Hand me my aids, babe,” Clint says. He can feel Bucky’s dick hard against his thigh, and if they’re going to be messing around, he wants to be able to hear it.

Bucky stretches out, reaching for the bedside table, and Clint kisses his shoulder, the top of his ribcage. He nuzzles into the musky heat of Bucky’s exposed armpit just to make him laugh, and he grins when he feels Bucky’s body trembling. Clint pulls back and sees the easy smile crossing Bucky’s face, and he’s just fucking happy. Bucky hands him his aids, and Clint slips them into his ears, murmuring, “C’mere and kiss me like you mean it.”

“I always mean it,” Bucky says, and his voice is so bright and carefree.

Clint loves how Bucky gets in the morning after he’s slept well, loves the way he gets a little brave about his own desires. He cradles Clint’s face in his hands, his left just as gentle as the right, and Clint holds still and waits to be kissed. And when Bucky leans down and presses their lips together, Clint can’t hold back his groan. He loves being kissed, loves being held down. Bucky shifts his body so that his dick aligns with Clint’s, still soft but starting to become interested the more time it spend with Bucky’s.

“You feel nice,” Clint whispers, his words trailing off in a whine as Bucky grinds their dicks together. Fuck, nothing turns him on more than Bucky being turned on. He loves when Bucky gets horny and takes control, and he wants Bucky to get whatever he wants, whatever he needs.

“You need to brush your teeth,” Bucky says slyly, but he kisses Clint anyway, wet and dirty with so much tongue, morning breath be damned, and Clint moans and lets his mouth go slack. He places his hand lightly on Bucky’s hip, thumbing at the bare skin above the waist of his pajama pants, and Bucky moans happily against Clint’s lips. Bucky doesn’t like having his head held, not during sex, not _ever_ , but he likes having the rest of him touched most of the time, and it’s not exactly a chore for Clint to run his greedy hands over Bucky’s body.

“You’re so sexy,” Clint says, stroking an appreciative hand up Bucky’s spine. Bucky pulls back long enough to suck in one shuddering breath, and then he’s kissing Clint again, hungrier than before. Clint’s rock-hard now, and he thrusts up against Bucky, coaxing their bodies into an easy rhythm that has him practically seeing stars behind his closed eyelids.

The kiss gets messier as they become more breathless, and soon enough, Clint’s pulling back just to suck in air, and he pants against Bucky’s mouth as Bucky gasps and blinks, his eyes dark and unfocused with lust. Clint licks his own lips and watches Bucky’s face. Christ, he’s so fucking beautiful. Clint’s sure he’s never been with anyone else this goddamn attractive in his life.

Bucky’s motions get a little sluggish, and his mouth falls open and stays that way. There’s a blankness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and even as dick-drunk as he is, Clint can see that something is different.

“Babe?” he asks cautiously. “Bucky? Are you okay?”

All at once, Bucky’s attention snaps back to Clint. There’s a moment where he looks disoriented, like he can’t figure out who he is or how he got here. His eyes flick uncomfortably one way and then the other, but when they land on Clint, he nods slightly.

“Babe?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. His voice sounds unsteady, and Clint stops moving entirely.

“Where are you right now?” Clint asks, trying to keep his voice calm. They’ve done this before. This has happened before, and he’s not going to overreact, because that’s not going to help.

“I’m.” Bucky blinks, keeps blinking. He licks his lips. “Yellow. Clint, yellow.”

“Okay, baby,” Clint says, trying to sound reassuring, using every bit of willpower he has to hold his hips still. “That’s fine.” This happens sometimes. “What’s going on?”

“Got lost,” Bucky whispers. He meets Clint’s eyes, and his whole face seems to deflate with disappointment. “Fuck. I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, baby,” Clint says. His hand is still on Bucky’s back, and he moves his thumb in small circles, just a tiny comforting touch to help ground Bucky. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t sound sure. “I want to do this, Clint, but I’m just…. I don’t want to get lost.”

It’s a cruel byproduct of Bucky’s time with Hydra that sometimes the hardest thing in the world is for him to just let go and enjoy himself. Bucky feels safest when he is vigilant and in control and consciously present. And sometimes, when the sex feels good, it starts to feel _too_ good, and he just...can’t let himself have it. He relaxes and lets down his guard, just a little bit, and then he panics. Clint’s still trying to understand it, but one thing he knows for sure is that if he ever meets any of Bucky’s former handlers face to face, he’s going to fuck them up beyond recognition for ever daring to lay a goddamn hand on this man, for taking seventy years of his life away and leaving him with a minefield head that won’t even let him experience pleasure without dissociating. It’s not fucking fair. No one deserves to feel good more than Bucky does.

“I won’t let you get lost,” Clint says. He carefully rolls Bucky off of him and onto his side, keeping his fingers light and gentle against Bucky’s back even though he desperately wants to brush away the hair that’s fallen into his eyes. But Bucky wouldn’t want Clint touching his face, so Clint doesn’t do it. Instead, he drags his toes slowly up and down along Bucky’s ankle, hoping to make him smile.

“What are you doing?” Bucky finally asks.

“We’re holding feet,” Clint says, touching his toes to Bucky’s, which earns him a snort. “Like holding hands, but with feet. I’m being romantic.”

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky says with the most adoring tone Clint has ever heard, and then they’re kissing again, and Bucky finally reaches up and brushes away his own hair after it gets caught in both their mouths.

“What do you want to do?” Clint murmurs. “Want me to get you off? Make you feel good? Or we could just call it quits and go have breakfast. Whatever you want.”

“Make me feel good,” Bucky says softly. “Please, Clint.”

“You just stay here with me,” Clint says, reaching down Bucky’s body and slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants to loosely grip his dick, already wet at the tip. Bucky shudders as Clint thumbs at his foreskin, so Clint does it again. “That’s it. Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” Bucky says shakily. Clint looks in his eyes, but he’s still in there. He’s overwhelmed, and he can’t relax, but he’s still there.

“You look so hot when you’re turned on. Do you know that?” Clint tries to keep the nerves out of his voice as he jacks Bucky’s cock with long, slow strokes, the way he likes. Clint isn’t one for dirty talk, not by a long shot, but talking to Bucky about what they’re doing keeps him here. He doesn’t know if it’s the best way, but it’s the only way he knows. They’re both just making this up as they go.

“Who, me?” Bucky asks weakly. His cock twitches in Clint’s hand, and Clint gives him a small squeeze, drawing a gorgeous moan from Bucky’s slack lips.

“Yeah, you,” Clint says. He kisses the sweat from Bucky’s forehead as he starts to move his hand faster. “You’re a dreamboat, you know that? Never seen anyone as pretty as you in real life, babe.”

“You’re dumb,” Bucky murmurs, but there’s a waver in his voice. “You’re so dumb.”

“You’re so sexy,” Clint whispers. He kisses the corner of Bucky’s parted lips. “You’re so strong and handsome. God, you’re gorgeous.”

Bucky huffs out an impatient breath, but he starts fucking into Clint’s fist, so at least it seems to be working.

“Wanted you the first time I saw you,” Clint says, which is maybe not entirely accurate, but Bucky doesn’t even remember the first time Clint saw him. But they both remember the time after that, the time Clint’s talking about. “Steve brought you around to meet everyone, and you were wearing that stupid, stupid shirt of his, the grey one with the collar.”

“Didn’t have any clothes of my own,” Bucky pants.

“Even better. You look great without clothes.” Clint ducks his head to lick at the hot skin down the front of Bucky’s neck, tracing the path of his Adam’s apple as Bucky swallows hard. “Fuck, I wanted you so bad, even in that dumb shirt. Would’ve lost my mind if you’d showed up without one.”

“What about…?” Bucky trails off, and Clint doesn’t know if it’s because he’s too close to coming, or if it’s because he still has trouble talking about his scars, even now.

“Perfect,” Clint says quietly. He wriggles down Bucky’s body, touches his lips to his lowest scar, the gnarly one that zigzags across his abdomen and over one hip. It’s unreal that anyone could have survived the attack that caused such a gruesome scar. It’s a fucking miracle that Bucky’s even still here. Clint kisses higher up Bucky’s torso, mouthing over every scar he finds. “Your body has been through so much, babe.” He reverently brushes his lips over the seam where Bucky’s metal arm meets the rest of his body. “It kept you safe long enough to meet me.”

“Clint,” Bucky says shakily, and Clint knows he’s getting close.

“You can come, babe,” Clint says gently. He touches his lips to Bucky’s face, brushing light kisses over his chin, his cheeks, his lips. “Whenever you want. Whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky tucks his face right against Clint’s, foreheads pressed together, panting erratically against each other’s mouths. Bucky makes a soft noise as he begins to come, and Clint pulls him through it, keeping his grip sure as he coaxes every bit of pleasure he can out of Bucky. He told Bucky he would make him feel good, and he’s going to follow through on that promise. Bucky deserves that much from him.

“Thank you,” Bucky says breathlessly. “Fuck. Thank you, Clint.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Clint protests, but Bucky’s already rolling him onto his back and pushing him down into the mattress. And before Clint even knows what’s happening, Bucky’s kissing him hot and desperate, rubbing insistently at Clint through his boxers, and it’s an embarrassingly short time before Clint is groaning and coming in his shorts. His hand is still down Bucky’s pants, loosely holding his soft cock. It’s kind of wild, the stuff that is hot to him now. A year ago, he never would have thought he’d be so into a morning quickie that ended with him coming in his pants, but more and more, Clint just likes whatever Bucky likes.

“Okay,” Bucky says brightly. “Breakfast time.”

“Shower time,” Clint objects. His hand is full of come. “Definitely shower time.”

“Shower time,” Bucky concedes. He kisses Clint’s nose. “I’m going back to mine, but I’ll meet you after?”

“Definitely,” Clint says. He finds Bucky’s mouth with his for one more kiss. “You go take a shower, and then I’ll let you make me pancakes.”

Bucky laughs, loud and long, and Clint feels so happy and satisfied at the sound of it. “Go brush your teeth,” Bucky challenges him, “and I’ll make you anything you want.”

“It’s a deal,” Clint says, and he knows he’s smiling like an idiot, but he doesn’t care.

*

Clint showers off and brushes his teeth twice, just to be sure. He wonders what Bucky’s nightmare was about last night and if it’s related to him dissociating today, but his curiosity is just idle, and he doesn’t necessarily expect it to be assuaged. Sometimes Bucky tells him all the awful shit his memory dredges up, and sometimes he keeps it to himself. Bucky gets to decide whether talking about it makes things better or worse, and Clint doesn’t push.

He pulls on a clean-ish purple tanktop that he finds inside-out and draped over a lamp and a pair of sweatpants that are somehow both too short _and_ too baggy, and then he heads out to meet Bucky.

Bucky and Steve are both in the kitchen, and they’re talking quietly as Bucky stands at the stove, loading up three plates with food. Bucky is smiling at Steve as they talk, but even from across the room, Clint sees the tension in his posture, and something inside him aches. Steve means well, they all know it, but he’s not always the best at letting Bucky heal at his own pace. Sometimes he pushes when he probably shouldn’t, and Bucky still isn’t so good at telling other people _no_.

“Smells great, babe,” Clint says, trying to announce his approach in advance so Bucky doesn’t get spooked, but he still startles a little at the sound of Clint’s voice. His head whips around, but he smiles when he sees Clint, and Clint smiles back.

It’ll get better eventually. It has to.

“I made pancakes,” Bucky says. “Steve was eating them as fast as I could make them, but I managed to save you a few.”

“Thanks,” Clint says, taking the plate from Bucky’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Bucky doesn’t like to be overly affectionate in public, but Clint thinks he could probably use a little comfort. It’s always a balancing act. “And thanks for sparing me a few of your scraps, Cap.”

“I’m not that bad,” Steve says, even though he is. “Okay, I have a thing.”

“A thing like a meeting or a thing like a date?” Clint asks, dousing his pancakes liberally with syrup before he starts inhaling them. They’re fucking delicious, of course. Bucky’s a really good cook.

“A thing like a private thing,” Steve says with a small frown. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Have fun on your date,” Bucky calls after him, sitting next to Clint at the table with his own plate. He still forgets to eat a lot of the time, but he likes cooking for Clint, and the cooking helps him remember to take care of himself, too.

“Is he really going on a date?” Clint asks with his mouth full. “I was mostly just giving him shit.”

“Me too, but….” Bucky shrugs. “I mean, he’s sparring with Sharon, so it could go either way. When do you head out?”

“Couple hours?” Clint isn’t entirely sure what time it is right now, but he isn’t scheduled to leave for his op until late afternoon, so he’s got some time. “I need to glance over the specs one more time, but I can do most of the prep on the quinjet if you wanted to hang out before I go.”

“Hang out,” Bucky repeats with a crooked smile.

“Is that funny?” Clint asks, shoving the last of his pancakes into his mouth. “Are you making fun of me?”

“There is syrup all over your face,” Bucky murmurs. Clint rolls his eyes and stands up, and he immediately resettles himself in Bucky’s lap.

“I’m an enthusiastic eater,” Clint says, raising an eyebrow. “You got a problem with that?”

“No problem at all,” Bucky says. He grips Clint’s hips with both hands and leans up for a kiss, licking the syrup from Clint’s sticky mouth. Clint keeps his lips together as Bucky delicately laps at them, and it’s so fucking intimate and also so fucking stupid, and he’s just...crazy about this man.

“Am I all clean?” Clint asks when Bucky pulls back.

“Not a chance,” Bucky says with a devastating smile that makes Clint’s thighs tense. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, sweetheart. But the syrup’s gone, at least.”

“My hero,” Clint says softly, and he’s kind of kidding, but he’s also kind of serious. “C’mon, babe. You gotta finish your food.”

Bucky glares at him, but Clint isn’t going to stand for that shit, and they both know it. Clint tries not to push Bucky too much, but eating is the exception. He has a supersoldier metabolism whether he likes it or not, and if he doesn’t get enough fuel, he’ll end up back in medical hooked up to an IV nutrient drip again, and that first experience was harrowing enough. Clint will never, ever be able to erase his mental images of a panicked, hysterical Bucky with a needle in his arm, strapped to the table because he kept trying to pull out the line. There are still scars on Bucky’s arm from him clawing at his own skin in a blind frenzy. Clint has enough nightmare fodder from that to last the rest of his life, so he will respect Bucky’s autonomy in all other things, but he has to fucking eat. It’s non-negotiable.

“You want me to do an airplane for you?” Clint asks. He picks up a piece of pancake from the plate and flies it through the air, making very impressive and realistic motor sounds. Bucky tries to keep his face stoic and unimpressed, but the muscle by his jaw keeps twitching, and he opens up his mouth for Clint and his pancake cargo every single time.

*

Clint’s op goes about as well as could be expected. It only takes three days instead of a week, so he’s on a quinjet flying back to the tower much quicker than he’d been anticipating. Even still, three days without Bucky is three days too many. The hour-long trip home seems to span centuries, and Clint spends all of it worrying about Bucky and whether he’s been eating and sleeping and taking care of himself.

He knows they’re too codependent. It’s obvious to him, and to Bucky, and to Steve, and to anyone who spends more than ten seconds around the two of them. They fucked up the timing a little bit. They definitely started sleeping together too soon. But Clint didn’t realize quite how deep Bucky’s wounds were, and his own depression made him maybe not the best judge of character.

But Clint did his best. He sensed Bucky’s hesitation and unease and taught him the language he needed to make Clint stop, to get him to slow down. And Clint stopped every time Bucky said “yellow,” and god, he sure used to say it a lot. _Constantly_. Sometimes because he was drifting and sometimes just to test Clint, just to make sure Clint would absolutely, always stop whatever he was doing if Bucky asked him to. And Clint did, he always stopped.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again,” Bucky had said once, after he worded out of six kisses in one day.

“I know,” Clint had said. They were sitting in bed together, hands loosely clasped, because it was the only part of himself Bucky could bear to have touched at that particular moment.

“Yeah, but.” Bucky looked down at their hands, and his jaw was so tense, and there was an anger in his eyes that Clint had never really seen before. “But sometimes, I just...really, really want to fucking hurt someone for doing this to me.”

“Me too,” Clint had whispered, scared to even squeeze Bucky’s hand for fear of setting him off again.

They should have spent more time being friends at the beginning, probably. Maybe Bucky needed a confidant more than he needed a fuckbuddy. But Clint wanted to be both, dammit. He’s never made the best decisions in his love life, and shockingly, that didn’t improve after he got his head hijacked by Loki and murdered a bunch of innocent people. But Bucky is sexy, and Bucky likes him, and Bucky _is like him_. They were drawn together from the start, two fucked-up magnets with nowhere else to go but directly towards one another.

They did it all wrong, but Clint still wouldn’t do it differently.

When the quinjet touches down, Bucky’s waiting for him on the roof. He’s wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a Black Widow sweatshirt, and he looks small, standing there by himself with the wind whipping through his hair. He’s just a person, one out of billions. He was born, and one day he’ll die, and no one else on this planet is ever going to feel the exact combination of emotions that Clint feels in his chest and his guts when he presses his face to the window and sees this man waiting for him, this beautiful man, this ordinary, lovely man.

The engine is still whirring when Clint throws open the hatch and launches himself at Bucky, and Bucky smiles and gathers Clint up in his arms. His hands are so cold against Clint’s cheeks, and Clint ducks his head and kisses him hard, desperate to feel Bucky real and raw against his mouth.

“Missed you,” he murmurs. “Christ, I fuckin’ missed you.”

“I’m right here,” Bucky says softly. “I’m right where you left me, sweetheart.”

They go inside together and head straight for Bucky’s rooms. They’ve been through this enough times, and Clint knows the routine now. He knows that Bucky needs to strip him down and scrutinize him, make sure all his insides are still on the inside, needs to check him for broken bones, needs to catalog the inevitable bruises and scratches. Bucky is thorough, and it’s not sexy. It’s actually kind of boring, but it’s important to Bucky, and Clint doesn’t mind crawling into Bucky’s bed and lying facedown while Bucky completes his inspection.

If nothing else, the sheets smell like Bucky, and Clint always likes that part of it.

There’s no pattern that Clint can discern. Bucky looks and touches until he’s done looking and touching, and sometimes that takes five minutes, and sometimes it takes an hour.

“Okay,” Bucky says after about twenty minutes. “You’re okay.”

“That’s what I told you,” Clint teases, rolling onto his side. The sheets feel so cozy against his bare skin, and he likes being naked in bed with Bucky fully clothed. It never starts out sexy, but sometimes it finishes up sexy, and he’s good to go if that’s where this is headed.

“I needed to check,” Bucky says stiffly.

“I know,” Clint says. He finds Bucky’s left arm in the bedsheets and squeezes his hand lightly. Then he kisses Bucky’s cold metal wrist, feeling the plates wriggle and flutter beneath his lips. “Thank you for checking,” he says softly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Bucky smiles hesitantly as he straddles Clint’s body. “I’ll always take care of you,” he says, running his right hand over Clint’s chest.

Clint luxuriates in the solid weight of Bucky’s body pressing him down into the bed, and his face must do something a little bit slutty, because Bucky chuckles quietly.

And then it’s just...easy. Bucky slips out of his clothes, and Clint kisses him the whole time he’s fingering him open. And then Bucky climbs back on top of Clint and gives him a wicked, devastating grin that has his toes curling. And there’s no hesitation, no dark shadows, no ghosts. It’s just the two of them, and Bucky is so powerful and confident and in control as he rides Clint’s dick, his head tossed back as his thighs find a brutal, delicious pace that has them both gasping.

It’s like this, sometimes. Not most of the time, but more and more the longer they’re together. They are figuring it out.

They’re getting better.

Afterwards, they just stay in bed. Clint asks JARVIS to have a robot deliver them pizza, partly because he’s starving, and partly because Bucky looks at the robots the way most people look at tiny adorable kittens, and it’s just an easy way to make Bucky happy.

“Don’t leave,” Bucky whispers, as if Clint has any intention of being anywhere else.

“I won’t,” Clint says. “I’m right here.”

“Good,” Bucky says. He snuggles into Clint’s body, kisses his collarbone, ruffles his fingers lightly through Clint’s chest hair. “Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, Bucky?” Clint still doesn’t know how Bucky tricked the AI into being so familiar and informal with him, but maybe everyone wants to please Bucky and see him happy, even a disembodied robot voice.

“Can you update my security settings and give Clint access to my rooms?”

“Certainly,” JARVIS replies, while Clint just stares, dumbfounded.

“Are you sure?” he asks eventually. It’s always been important to Bucky to have his own spaces that no one else can access. This feels like too much.

“I’m pretty sure.”

“It’s okay if you change your mind later,” Clint insists.

“I know that,” Bucky says with a smile. “But this is what I want.”

And who is Clint to deny him that?

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/190029830799/title-save-your-first-and-last-chance-for-me)


End file.
